


A Story Told in Flesh

by ChrissiHR



Category: Captain America - All Media Types, Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types, Thor (Movies)
Genre: Costume Parties & Masquerades, Costumes, Cunnilingus, Darcy Lewis Bingo, Darcy Lewis Bingo 2020, Disguise, Exhibitionism, F/M, First Time, Halloween, Loss of Virginity, Masks, Princes & Princesses, Promptober, Public Nudity, Ritual Sex, Semi-Public Sex, Spooktober, Thor (Marvel) is a Good Bro, Thor is a fertility god, Vaginal Sex, Voyeurism, dlbingo, dlbingo2020, gentle first time sex, innhøstingsfest, royal!Darcy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-02
Updated: 2020-10-02
Packaged: 2021-03-08 03:49:18
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,237
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26779156
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ChrissiHR/pseuds/ChrissiHR
Summary: It was her first time and she was fucking a stranger practically in public.In fact, when she glanced over his shoulder, there was no mistaking the small crowd of revelers who’d gathered to enjoy the entertainment of one of the many harvest maidens sampling her warrior’s wares, and a royal princess of Odin's court, too.Something about it, the eyes on her, the strangeness of it, the anonymity of the masks and the festival and the freedom to just ...lean in and enjoy it for once in her patriarchy-repressed life. It wound her right up all over again and she lost the rhythm. She needed it, needed him so bad. “Please, please,” she panted, rearing up and chewing at his throat, his jaw, even his mouth. He gave as good as he got, bruising Darcy’s lips and dipping into her mouth to taste the traces of mead still clinging to her tongue.
Relationships: James "Bucky" Barnes/Darcy Lewis
Comments: 30
Kudos: 226





	A Story Told in Flesh

**Author's Note:**

> Title: A Story Told in Flesh  
> Pairing: Darcy x Bucky  
> Darcy Lewis Bingo square filled: Y1 Darcy x Bucky  
> Promptober prompts: mask | disguise | flesh  
> Pre-read by @nobutsiriusly (Thank you, my darling!)
> 
> Suggested listening: “Venus in Furs” by The Velvet Underground & Nico and “Don’t Wanna Know (feat. Kendrick Lamar)” by Maroon 5

Darcy paused at the top of the stairs to the grand banqueting hall of Gladsheimr.

On either side of the cavernous, golden room, long tables groaned with the fruits of Aesir labor. A roast boar sat in pride of place every four seats or so, and platters piled high and placed on pedestals of varying heights allowed more and more dishes to be added between diners. 

Not that those dining noticed much. 

Between the costumed dancers swirling in figures around the center of the room and those in masks, pairing up and sneaking off to the shadows to lift skirts and tuck hands inside trews, hardly anyone noticed the food.

Nor the newest arrival.

Except Thor. Thor always seemed to notice Darcy.

“Lady Darcy!” he called, extracting himself from a pair of pretty twins with a striking resemblance to Jane. (Jane, who called things off with Thor only days into their officially official trip to Asgard as representatives of same. Darcy had no idea what the spat was about, but Thor didn’t appear to be taking it too much to heart thus far. And Darcy’s duties as a member and official representative of Thor’s court remained unchanged in any case.)

“You’ll make Janie jealous, you keep that up,” she said with a smile and a nod to his companions as he jogged up the stairs to sweep her up in a brotherly hug. “And you’re not supposed to know it’s me anyway. Now you’ve given me away, Muscles.” She batted her long, darkened lashes coquettishly behind the mask made of finest chainmail lace. It felt like silk against her skin, but cooler to the touch. She wore matching trousers in a blousy, harem style, made of the same fine, floral lace mail. 

She almost stayed in her room for the night once she tried on all the pieces her lady’s maid brought for her when it came time to bathe and prepare for the party. Everything was sheer, with very little left to the imagination. The gossamer fine panties and corset she wore underneath made of little more than wishes and prayers made her feel sinful and decadent. The coppery-golden sheen of them looked even warmer and more inviting against her pale skin than on the hanger. Over the trousers and panties, her lady’s maid draped tissue-thin scarves in shades of rose-gold and lichen green, one across her hips to accentuate her maiden’s belly, the maid said, and one across her backside for a bit of tantalizing mystery. She topped it all with a short diaphanous vest in more of the same green, its delicate halves pinned beneath her breasts, framing the miracle performed by the corset bra baring almost half of each of her nipples to all of Asgard.

“Tis the fashion of innhøstingsfest, my lady,” the maid assured her. “You’re meant to snare a lover or three, to try them on for size, and see if any suits you, as the autumn is the time for maidens to put away innocence and don passion’s crown.” And sure enough, many of the other maidens in attendance tonight appeared to be dressed in similar style.

Not that Darcy, herself, was particularly maidenly, but Asgard had its ways of knowing Darcy came to Asgard a woman in all but the one way. Not that she hadn’t sampled all of passion’s appetizers along the way through college to her date with Asgard, but the final act itself still remained on the table.

Darcy would be part of tonight’s feast for some lucky buck (or three), according to her maid. She need only choose which suited her fancy, if any at all.

“Sister of my heart,” Thor greeted her formally. “Asgard suits you well,” he remarked, appraising her ensemble from head to toe.

“Asgard makes me feel like a roasted boar for the table,” she laughed lightly, feeling her face warm under Thor’s appreciative gaze. 

“The harvest has been a good one, and the people make merry in celebration. Will you join us?” He held out a hand and Darcy slipped hers into it.

“So how does this work, big guy?” she asked as he led her down the stairs. 

“As your brother, it’s tradition that I have the honor of introducing you to several warriors of my acquaintance who might suit your taste.”

“Thor…” Darcy pulled her hand from his grasp. “I’m not being married off here for … like, political reasons or something, right?”

“Nay, sister,” he assured her. “Tonight, as a maiden princess of Asgard, you and the other maidens are to have your chance to sample the wares of a warrior before buying the bull, so to speak. Or the wares of other maidens, if you prefer. Not all here are of Asgard, but all _will_ respect your wishes or feel my wrath, dear sister.” He patted her reassuringly and Darcy relaxed by degrees, keeping one hand tucked inside his elbow as he introduced her as a maiden fair and ready, allowing her mask to hide her true identity from all except those few who heard his greeting upon her arrival. 

As they crossed the room, a growing group of young swains gathered, trailing in their wake, long past their introduction and dismissal. When Darcy showed little interest in the younger warriors, Thor glared and sent them scattering with a flash of lightning in his eyes.

Finally, they came upon a group of older warriors, all masked above their varied facial hair, all engaged properly in the spirit of merrymaking. She recognized Volstagg and the pretty, plump lady in his lap as his wife. One of his large hands cradled the fullness of her belly, bragging on the making of twins not even a year past. He hoped for another pair this time and his wife did look a bit like she swallowed two watermelons.

In the shadowed alcove behind them, Darcy spotted Fandral with his breeches unfastened and his ass in the breeze, merrily screwing the brains out of one of Darcy’s fellow harvest maidens with shining dark hair. 

No one else gave them a second glance, except the warrior Thor introduced her to next. Pink stained his cheeks beneath the dark leather mask when Fandral’s playmate called out to the Norns for their grace at the peak of her pleasure.

“And this, lady, is my good friend--”

“James,” the warrior interrupted, offering a hand covered in plate armor. Darcy accepted the handshake, wondering who wore plate armor to an event designed to encourage celebrants to remove their clothes with all possible haste. As she looked over the odd armor, one of the fingers flexed and a thumb caressed the back of her hand.

“Oh,” she breathed as the articulated digit swept over the long bones of her hand. Not armor, but a prosthetic. She’d never seen anything like it on Earth or all of Asgard.

Thor paid her no mind, introducing her further to several other warriors--two older men with dark hair. Thor called these masked men the tinker and the scholar, but neither offered her names, far more interested in one another than in any of Asgard’s many voluptuous harvest maidens. A lithe strawberry blonde sat in the shorter warrior’s lap, while the other warrior drank from a large stein and pushed glasses up his nose. He must not be from Asgard, Darcy thought, as no one else she’d come across wore specs like her own reading glasses in Thor’s home realm. The pretty blonde Thor introduced as Virginia and she showed the same polite, but distant interest in Darcy as the others.

Beside this trio, a tall blond man in a deep blue tunic, dark leather trousers, and boots nodded in greeting, his hands busy holding a laughing redhead sidesaddling his lap. She wore black and red scarves in the same style as Darcy, though hers made her look witchy and mysterious with her shining red hair and creamy, bare legs. 

(Whereas Darcy looked lush and ripe for the picking, like a plump apple, she sighed, quietly resigned to her body’s insistence on keeping every ounce of carbs she ingested planted firmly on her hips and tits.)

The redhead introduced them as Sven and Nataliya, but Darcy got the impression she was pulling her leg. 

Because Sven? _Really?_

On the table behind Sven, a guy with impressive arms and dirty blond hair reclined with his knees on either side of Sven’s equally impressive shoulders. 

“Francis,” he said with a nod and cheeky grin at Nataliya, as if onto their game, too, and willing to play. The sleeves were torn from his purple tunic, the better to bare his thick arms, and they did not disappoint. He leaned in from time to time to nibble at the redhead’s lips and run a loving hand through Sven’s close-cropped hair. 

Sorely tempted to join them if the occasion arose, Darcy marked their appearance for later, should they meet again. Darcy loved a guy with good arms and a sense of humor.

“And you know Hogun, of course,” Thor finished with his inner circle.

“Aye,” the warrior agreed, sweeping Darcy up and down with an approving gaze. “Asgard suits you far better than those bulky, knitted tunics you’ve worn since your arrival. Your form is too shapely to hide, my Lady Princess.”

“Princess?” the Francis guy in the sleeveless tunic tuned back into their conversation with a hand stroking inside the collar of Sven’s tunic.

“My sister, not of birth, but by choice,” Thor explained with a sniff. “She is a Midir of Midgard, a scholar of the art of politics, come to us to learn the law of this realm in the Academy of the Great Archive. Should a worthy warrior catch her eye,” he said, lifting her hand to his lips to press a sweet kiss to her fingertips, “it is hoped she will consider biding with us a while, rather than returning to Midgard with her scholarly fellow.”

“And what sort of thing makes a warrior worthy of the Princess?” Nataliya asked.

“A fine, big cock and a hearty appetite for my Lady Princess’ curves!” Volstagg roared with laughter. 

“A sense of humor it must be for the maiden princess,” Hogun cut into the resulting laughter. “Naught else would do for one such as she.”

“Nay,” Fandral disagreed, sending his raven-haired autumn maiden off with a swat to her behind as he returned, fixing his breeches. “Only a good cock _and_ a better sense of humor would do for one such as she, for maiden though she be, the Lady Princess has known her share of tender passions. A warrior must have more than good aim for this one. I’d know,” he crooned, slipping her hand from Thor’s to kiss the knuckles her big bro missed.

“You’re too slippery for me,” Darcy tweaked him, patting his cheek. “Fandral the Vainglorious Cock is what they should call you.”

“ _Vainglorious cock!_ ” he roared with laughter. “Dance with me, Lady Princess,” was the only warning he gave, sweeping her up and off into the swirling figures moving across the great hall. 

They danced forever, it seemed, finally taking a break for a drink of Asgard’s strong harvest cider and another flagon of mead when the cider was drained. When he led her to an alcove, Darcy held her protest. Fandral knew how to have a good time without pressing for more than she wanted to give, graciously doing so again this night. He wasn’t for her alone, but for _every_ courtly maiden to sample, and always would be, she suspected. Behind the drapes, they found a low divan, covered in thick furs. A stack of cleaning cloths lay to the side--and a quick change of sheets at the ready for sanitary purposes during this bacchanal. Credit where it’s due, Darcy quite liked the no-nonsense, Aesir attitude toward sex and the open way the Aesir approached sex with multiple and shared partners. Soon, she found herself on her back and Fandral’s head between her thighs. 

He mourned a bit when he drew down her blousy trousers. “You’re spotless here.” He petted her pussy. “Have none others approached you yet this ev’en?”

“None I’d have get me naked,” she answered, placing a bare foot on his shoulder. “Are you really disappointed I’m fresh and clean for you?”

“I’d enjoy the taste of the men on you is all, my Lady Princess,” he pouted, but lowered his mouth to her sex. “You really are quite lovely here, where Hedonia has fashioned you for loving. A shame it is no other warriors have yet known you in this fashion or the other.”

“They’ll get their chance,” she assured him, parting her legs when he didn’t bother to pull off her panties, only pushing them aside.

He traced a finger idly over the small tattoo on her inner thigh, indicating the healer’s mark of contraception and protection. 

Gods, but Darcy loved that spell, she thought, winding her hips in a figure eight as Fandral applied himself to her sex with gusto. No part of her went untasted or untouched and she cried out more than once from his efforts, but when she offered to return the favor, Fandral instead pressed a kiss inside her thigh.

“Nay,” he breathed into her skin. “I’ll save it for another. Best spread myself around a bit lest I get attached and overstay my welcome between your lovely thighs, my princess. Rest awhile here before you rejoin the feasting. We’ve a week or more of this and ‘tis your first. Pace yourself, Princess,” he warned, leaning up between the cradle of her hips to press a kiss tasting very much of her to her lips.

“You’re the best, Fandral, for reals. Ten out of ten, would ride your ridiculous mustache again.” She kissed him back, then went lax, starfishing on the low divan. She curled up on her side eventually and dozed a while like Fandral suggested, sleeping soundly on the thick pile of furs in no more than her corset, panties, and the veil covering the bottom half of her face. The silks splayed around her like the petals of an open flower.

Darcy felt _divine_.

She roused when someone rearranged her gently, sponging her off with floral-scented water and redressing her in a sheer rose-colored robe fitted like a kimono. It, too, left nothing to the imagination, but covered her nonetheless and signaled to any who peeked inside the alcove that she wasn’t looking for new partners at the moment. 

“Rest, my lady,” she recognized her lady’s maid’s voice.

She woke again perhaps an hour later, calling out to the maid she knew would be waiting beyond the curtain.

“Where m’clothes?” she asked, feeling grumpy from her over-long nap.

“I’ve brought fresh,” the maid replied, parting the curtains and returning with a pile of garments over one arm. Swiftly, she divested her princess of her ruined undergarments, replacing them with new smallclothes in a lovely berry shade. The fingertip face veil and mask went next, replaced by something fitted closer to her skin--more like lace than fine chain mesh. Instead of scarves, the maid slid a short berry-purple robe to match her undergarments over Darcy’s shoulders, similar in style to the longer one her lady napped in. “There’s a warrior awaiting ye outside the alcove, m’lady. I’d send him off to await your attention properly, but he’s one of the prince’s friends and I think he means to bring you a bit of refreshment.”

“Which one? Did he say his name?” she asked, sitting on the edge of the divan in front of a stool the maid pulled up to touch up her lady’s face with fresh kohl about her eyes. Then, she fastened the little closures on the sides of her lady’s mask.

“James, my lady, the one missin’ his arm and replaced with one even better. His eyes behind that mask are the color of the seas in the north and he appears finely fashioned by the Norns for a lady's or warrior’s pleasure, in his fine bucksins. They're slung so low across his hips, you can almost see the man's sword, and then he goes about with no tunic on at’all. And the battle scars!” The maid fanned herself. “Quite the stir he caused when he stepped from an alcove a bit ago without his tunic and every head in the hall turned to gaze upon his warrior’s story in flesh. Goodness, my lady, just thinking of his warrior’s tale makes me flush hot,” the maid exhaled, pressing a trembling hand to her breast. “He’s a warrior finishes what he starts, too, m’lady. There’s no better can be said of one such as him. He’d make a fine warrior prince,” she teased.

“Go on, you've gassed him up to me enough now,” Darcy laughed, shooing her maid. “But send him. And make sure he’s still shirtless.” Darcy smirked when her maid gasped at her lady’s nerve.

“I … I’ll tell him, my lady, but I don’t know he’ll agree. Men are such contrary creatures.”

“Send him. Where should I—do you think?” Darcy whispered, turning about on the divan as she tried to figure out how she should wait for him to attend her.

“Like this.” The maid stepped forward, arranging her lady on the divan, propped up on one elbow with the robe pulled open and the sheer, plum bustier under it pulled down until Darcy’s breasts nearly overflowed it. “We’ll give him a bit of a peek here,” the maid teased, rearranging her lady until her nipples rode the top edge of the garment, a thin sliver of the top of each pink nipple just visible over its silky trim. She parted her lady’s robe and pinched the inside of her lady’s thighs to make them pink.

“What’s that for?” Darcy whispered. 

“To make him a bit jealous. He’ll want t’leave ‘is mark there, too, hmm?” She winked knowingly and stepped back to admire her handiwork, smiling when a small bruise darkened high up inside her lady’s leg, near the seam where it met her torso. (Oh, aye, he’d be right jealous, the elvish imp thought with a grin, eager to get his hands on her Lady Princess and leave his own marks all about, too.)

“Ready as I’ll ever be,” Darcy said, taking a fortifying breath. 

“I’ll be nearby, should ye need anything, your highness.” Then she was gone.

Darcy held her breath.

“Can I interest you in a--” The shirtless warrior faltered when he parted the curtains and got his first look at Darcy.

“I’m interested…” she purred, admiring the way his silver arm married to the flesh of his strong chest. She must have been in Asgard too long, she silently mused, when the way his scars stretched across his broad chest set her heart racing.

The tray he carried found a spot on a sideboard within easy reach of the divan and he rubbed his palms on his leather trousers to no avail. When his breath shuddered, too, she smiled to herself. 

“I’ve never done this before,” she admitted, the words muffled by the close-fitting mask. 

“But that Fandral fella…” He hooked a thumb over his shoulder at the banquet hall.

“I mean, I’ve dabbled a little, but I’ve never been to one of these festivals.” Darcy took another deep, resetting breath, sitting up and pressing a hand to her fluttering belly. Her robe fell open, revealing just how little she wore. “I mean I’ve never … never.”

“A real maiden, huh?” he asked, approaching the low divan like a cage holding a wild animal he worried about spooking. “Didn't think there were any of those left around here. A maiden, ” he mused.

“Only in the one way that really matters,” she assured her swain. 

“Is that something you’d like help with … your highness?” he asked, lowering to his knees beside the bed.

“What are you doing?” she asked when he bowed his head.

“Back home, we have many lands and many customs,” he said in an oddly familiar accent, “and several of those lands practice the custom of honored consorts bowing at the foot of a royal lady's or gentleman’s bed before entering it.” He lifted his head and slid his flesh hand over the furs to caress her foot, lifting and bringing it to his--

Oh.

His bare shoulder.

The naked sole of her foot felt cool against the searing heat of his battle-scarred skin. That answered one question--definitely not a human running at that temperature. 

He placed a kiss to her ankle, right over the bone, and she shuddered. 

“May I please you, Princess?” he asked formally.

“Yes, please,” she breathed, leaning back on her elbows and tipping her head back as his lips slid up over her calf to nibble inside her leg. She squirmed and shuddered when the tip of his tongue skated up her inner thigh. Hot breath ghosted across her chilled flesh, raising goosebumps.

“Fandral’s done nothing but brag about the sweet flavor a’you since he left you to sleep, princess. Makes a man mighty curious,” he hinted. 

“Is tasting me to check his facts all you’re interested in?” she demanded, gasping at the ceiling when he moved up between her knees and the cool metal of his prosthetic touched her flank as he skimmed up beneath her robe with his prosthetic hand. 

“No, ma’am,” the warrior exhaled, a hot, sultry gust of air billowing across her barely concealed mound. “I’d fuck you, make you scream, beg me for more. Sure as fuck wouldn’t crawl out of your bed in search of more from someone else when all this is waiting right here,” he promised, pressing her knees wider to make room for his narrow waist. He pushed aside her robe and stroked at her pussy through her clinging, wet panties. Then, without warning, he pinched the fabric over her cleft between his thumb and forefinger and yanked until it tore the panties away like tissue paper, stinging her hips.

“Fuck, that’s hot,” she gasped. Her legs fell open, baring the healer’s mark of contraception to assure him of their protection. Without preamble, he shoved her legs up, making a wider place for his thick thighs and crawled up the bed on hands and knees, hovering over her sex. 

“What’s your pleasure, princess?” he asked, sinking down to settle between. It started with teasing, terrible kitten licks to her pussylips that drove her crazy, but didn’t get her anywhere fast. He was toying with her. “Want me just to taste you like Fancy Fandral?”

“C’mere,” she demanded, struggling to sit up and draw him up her body, to cover and smother her with his barrel chest and mile-wide shoulders. “Like this,” she decided when his thighs forced hers apart, making room aplenty. She wanted the broad weft and weight of him, pressing her into the furs.

“Only to begin,” he insisted, covering her mouth with his and nibbling at her here like he nibbled from ankle to pussy just moments before. 

“Then what?” she asked, watching as he sat back to open his trousers and push them down until his cock sprang free. He paused a moment and let her take in the impressive length and breadth of it.

“Then I’ll have you sit in my lap,” he growled, hitching her hips up from the divan and over his lap. “Fill you full again, turn you on your belly and lick you clean, fore and aft.”

“Whassat mean?” she groaned as he rubbed his cockhead along the seam of her pussylips. 

“Gonna lick this pretty split from one end--” he tapped her clit, “--all the way round to the other.”

“Ohh…” she breathed, realizing what he meant, where exactly he meant to lick her. His cock nudged at her again and she tensed up at the stretch of his gentle entry. “Nice and slow, Princess,” he promised. “Easy, easy,” he coaxed as her hips rocked up, seeking what--she didn’t know.

“Please,” she whispered, shoving a hand between them to swipe at her clit, and accidentally bumped his cock. “Oh!” she hissed, snatching her hand away.

“No, here, it's okay, come’ere.” He grabbed for her hand, laying it over her mound so she could explore the place where their bodies met. 

“Will it fit?” He felt so _big_. She heard horror stories in college. 

“Never met a lady or a fella yet it ain’t fit,” he promised, groaning for mercy when she dipped her fingers into herself around his cockhead. “That’ll do, sweetheart. A little stretch’ll make it go a lot easier.”

“I’ve heard first times don’t have to hurt,” she ventured, sliding wet fingers along his shaft.

“As wet as you are, doll, I very much doubt you need to worry about pain.” But he dipped gently into her entrance again and used his hand to paint her pussy with a combination of her wetness and the pre-come dribbling from his cock. It felt extra slick and hot as he spread it liberally everywhere, even using a finger to smear some down where his cock definitely wasn’t going to go and making her yelp. “Maybe later, Princess,” he hinted with a wink.

She panted. Her clit ached. It _throbbed_ by the time he was done readying her with his fingers for his cock.

“Please, please,” she begged, hitching her hips, begging for more.

“Almost there, babydoll,” he promised, leaning forward and gathering her up. “Put your hands up here. If it pinches or hurts, you tap twice or sing out and we’ll stop and find a better way, alright?”

She nodded, burying her face in his throat. 

“Do you only go by James?” she asked, trying to distract herself from what was about to happen as he lined himself up and the fat head of his cock stretched her with its blunt tip. “Oh,” she breathed as he gently fucked her with just the tip until she adjusted, holding herself high and steady with both hands on his shoulders.

“Sometimes, but friends call me Buck or Bucky, sometimes Jamie, too,” he panted through clenched teeth, grabbing her hard at the hips as she tried pressing down to take in more of him, faster. “Slow here, alright? There’s no rush, your highness.”

“Just wanna get it over with,” she whined into his skin.

“Not like that, princess, not if I can help it. The just-get-it-done way hurts a hell of a lot more than it needs to.” He held her hips in an iron grip, refusing to let her rush. He teased her some more, then reminded her, “You can touch yourself, honey, if it helps. Like a distraction. I heard tell it can help, sometimes.”

“Yeah, yeah,” she panted, slipping her hand between them to rub at her clit, but she got distracted, feeling around his cock again where they met.

“Careful, doll. That rocket’s ready to go if you light it,” he warned, jerking his hips back and pulling his cock from her hand.

“Sorry, I didn’t know.” But felt a surge of something powerful grow in her belly. She did that, made him pull back to control himself just because she touched him. “I’ll be more careful,” she promised and he resumed, repositioning himself and slipping back in a bit farther than before.

“Oh, oh,” she gasped in surprise when the first few inches disappeared inside her without the stretch and burn of before.

“Christ, you’re so wet,” he moaned, fucking her in tiny micro strokes until she relaxed and he gained another half inch or so. “Tightest damn pussy I ever felt, doll. Feel like a green teenager tryin’ not to blow my load here.”

“What can I do to help?” she panted, wishing they could just press together and rock already. She wanted him inside.

“You know how to bear down?” he asked.

She shook her head.

“Think about the muscles you use when you--” He paused, his cheeks turning pink as he turned his face away.

“What?”

“When you relieve yourself,” he said, dropping his voice to mitigate the embarrassment for both of them as he pressed his cheek to hers so she wouldn’t have to look him in the eye. “Think about the muscles you have to relax when you go, but consciously try to relax them this time and let your weight carry you down until you need to stop and adjust again.”

“Jamie… Won’t that just make me pee?” She laughed nervously into his shoulder.

“I ain’t worried about that,” he promised, sliding his hands down to cup her ass, spreading her wide.

“Whoa,” she exhaled, concentrating on those muscles and really hoping she wasn’t about to embarrass herself. But her body opened up. Her legs relaxed, too, and she slid her feet on the divan directly under her knees to give her more control as she relaxed and flexed, gently bearing down as instructed, and lowered herself until her skin slid flush against his. 

“Holy shit, oh, oh, fuck, Jaime,” she hissed when he smiled and slid his hands up her back to cradle her to his chest. He jogged her hips gently with his own, rubbing her fucking _everywhere_ inside and making her feel like … like a glass full of water, ready to spill.

“Hohmygod, that’s amazing,” she groaned, leaning back in his hold and setting her feet against the calves folded under his ass. 

“Feel good, sweetheart?” he checked, adjusting and touching her legs one at a time to bring them in against his sides. When he had her in the proper position, he checked one more time, “Ready?”

“Yeah,” she panted. “Show me what’s next, please.”

He began to rock, tilting her back in his arms like she weighed nothing. He stroked inside her, long and deliberate--no sharp thrusts, though, nothing jarring at all, just a long, slow glide full of pleasure until her belly started to tighten in anticipation. She probably would have taken a good while longer to adjust to the gentle fucking and come, but he tucked a hand between them and gathered up some of her wetness.

“What are you--” she started to ask, but then his wet fingers pressed between her cheeks and she gasped.

“Just a fingertip, honey,” he promised. “Gotta get ya there before I blow. Wanna make it good for you.”

She nodded, the words to accept lost on her. “It’s already good for me,” she rasped, pressing their temples together.

“It can be better,” he promised. “Now bear down again for me, sweetheart, and we’ll go easy, alright?” he whispered, pressing the tip of his flesh finger against the tight ring of muscle. It felt so strange. Not bad, but so very, very weird. 

She relaxed as he chanted, “good girl, so good for me, so good, just like that, yeah, yeah,” and the tip of his finger slid in with just the tiniest stretch and sting.

“Jamie,” she gasped in shock at the twin sensations when he pumped his hips and stroked the tip of his slick finger inside her other entrance. “Not long now, just, just like--” she tried to tell him, but the words wouldn’t come. Gently, he twisted his finger, squeezing in a little deeper and pressing down against his cock inside her. “Jamie!” she yelped. Her hips hitched and she bucked backward, unable to control her limbs as she flinched in the direction of the odd, new sensation.

“There ya go, good girl,” he crooned, pressing deeper until she felt his knuckle.

“Oh my god, is your finger…?” she gaped, but her body knew exactly what to do, hips rolling between cock and finger, fucking herself on each. “Oh, oh, oh,” she climbed rapidly, closing her eyes. Jamie jogged her oh so gently, fucking up into her until the first, telltale flutters gave her away. “Close,” she warned, realizing only belatedly that she still had the mask on, that Jamie had kissed her right through it, that he still had his mask on, too.

Fuck, she might know his name, but the guy was still a _stranger_. 

It was her first time and she was fucking a stranger practically in public. 

In fact, when she glanced over his shoulder, there was no mistaking the small crowd of revelers who’d gathered to enjoy the entertainment of one of the many harvest maidens sampling her warrior’s wares, and a royal princess of Odin's court, too.

Something about it, the eyes on her, the strangeness of it, the anonymity of the masks and the festival and the freedom to just ...lean in and enjoy it for once in her patriarchy-repressed life. It wound her right up all over again and she lost the rhythm, fucking at James--Jamie with sudden desperation. She needed it, needed him so bad. “Please, please,” she panted, rearing up and chewing at his throat, his jaw, even his mouth. He gave as good as he got, bruising Darcy’s lips and dipping into her mouth to taste the traces of mead still clinging to her tongue.

“Thatta girl, feel that?” He pressed his mouth to her ear, pouring a litany of filth and encouragement directly into her soul. Fuck. “Feel it?” he demanded. “Your pussy clenching up around me. The muscles are fluttering around my dick, doll, like the sweetest little massage. You squeeze me, honey, take what you need,” he coaxed her up to the edge and twisted his finger in her other entrance.

She went over the edge, crying with pleasure, keening his name, “Jaaamie!”

“Good girl, good girl, almost there, right there,” he chanted, easing the finger out of her ass and grabbing both hips. He jogged her, still gentle, chasing his own end as Darcy crested a second time, hanging onto him for dear life. The friction burned her clit, overwhelming her. Tears spilled down her cheeks as he ripped another orgasm from her quivering pussy.

“Jamie,” she whined in the crook of his neck as his gentle thrusts finally turned sharp right at the very end. He held on tight, like he didn’t want to thrust too hard and risk hurting her. “Fuck me,” she demanded, cheeks soaked with overwhelmed tears, and finally, finally, he did, thrusting three, four, five times and burying himself deep inside her. His arms tightened and something hot pulsed inside her again and again and again. She bore down one last time and he threw back his head and roared his release. She squeezed around him and sighed in languorous satisfaction when he pulsed again, four or five more times.

She lay fully against him and pulled a shaking hand from his shoulder to press to her quivering belly over the slight distension from his cock and cum filling her to bursting.

“That was…” she panted, “amazing.” She kissed him through her lace mask, licking at his throat.

“That was only round one,” he promised, setting her back on his thighs and withdrawing gently until his cock popped free, slippery and covered in his milky spend. He laid her back, safe in his arms, as she felt something hot gush out in a rush right after.

“Holy shit--what?” She tried to sit up, but another hot gush rushed from her and she didn’t know what the fuck to make of it until James scooped up a couple of fingers full of the stuff to show her. 

“Milked me good and proper, honey,” he said with no small amount of pride, swiping the fingers on his thigh and pressing the hand to her belly. “I don’t mind licking ya clean. You’ll be a mess for hours if we wait for it all to come out on its own.”

“What… What are you doing?” she asked, struggling to sit up enough to watch. When she had a good view, James pressed on her belly and another deluge of cum gushed from her reddened pussy. “Whoa, wow, that’s hot,” she gasped as it ran down her split and pooled in his lap, making a messy pool of cum between them.

“Sorry, doll. Ain’t done this in a while.”

She pouted a little. “You mean that won’t happen every time?”

“Every time?” he asked, perking up with a smile.

“Oh, we’re definitely doing that again,” she promised, crunching her abs (such as they were) and groaning when one final gush of cum slid out. 

“Here now, you lay down, doll, and I’ll clean ya up.”

That sounded awesome, to be honest. She did as he said when he laid her back among the furs, cleaning up their mess with his mouth and tongue, and one of the cloths provided when he couldn't catch it all, but she could have sworn as she dozed that she felt him massaging something slippery and hot into her belly and thighs, too.

She shivered when he finished, her skin damp and cooling from the tepid water used to wipe her arms and legs down fresh and clean. 

“You’ve got goosepimples here,” Jamie remarked. “And no wonder. These scarves they’ve done you all up in are meant to reveal. Who ever wore a scarf to do anything but get warm back home?” he demanded, drawing the furs up over Darcy’s bare back and settling in at her side to rest before she sampled her buck again.

**Author's Note:**

> October 3rd update, weigh-in in the notes on tumblr or in the comments below this fic and we’ll make a decision together if y’all prefer comfort fic to Halloween fic rn: https://chrissihr.tumblr.com/post/630963573395505152/so-im-rethinking-my-month-long-plans-for-the


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